"She asks only in return," said Carrie, scarcely hearing the
small, scheduled reply of her lover, and putting herself even
more in harmony with the plaintive melody now issuing from the
orchestra, "that when you look upon her your eyes shall speak
devotion; that when you address her your voice shall be gentle,
loving, and kind; that you shall not despise her because she
cannot understand all at once your vigorous thoughts and
ambitious designs; for, when misfortune and evil have defeated
your greatest purposes, her love remains to console you. You
look to the trees," she continued, while Hurstwood restrained his
feelings only by the grimmest repression, "for strength and
grandeur; do not despise the flowers because their fragrance is
all they have to give. Remember," she concluded, tenderly, "love
is all a woman has to give," and she laid a strange, sweet accent
on the all, "but it is the only thing which God permits us to
carry beyond the grave."

The two men were in the most harrowed state of affection. They
scarcely heard the few remaining words with which the scene
concluded. They only saw their idol, moving about with appealing
grace, continuing a power which to them was a revelation.

Hurstwood resolved a thousands things, Drouet as well. They
joined equally in the burst of applause which called Carrie out.
Drouet pounded his hands until they ached. Then he jumped up
again and started out. As he went, Carrie came out, and, seeing
an immense basket of flowers being hurried down the aisle toward
her she waited. They were Hurstwood's. She looked toward the
manager's box for a moment, caught his eye, and smiled. He could